a single feather drops

a simple cycle sun and night and rain
is not enough to make this world a park
not one of us expects to leave a mark
or know much more than what is clear and plain
when we are born that life begins in pain
and ends just where it starts in the cold dark
each of us hides from facts so wholly stark
but we are not allowed just to abstain
our task to enter in the line of dance
and learn the steps perhaps essay a whirl
not seeming to be out of proper place
while making the whole ensemble advance
and letting the new ribbon lose its curl
in a bright measure of perfected grace

the world is against you

there is no task that will not lead to stress
you turn the corner and the door will slam
others might give you one small chance to scram

no option's left that seems not to depress
the universe must place you in a jam
there is no task that will not lead to stress

when you were born you had to make a mess
so that the midwife uttered a loud damn
your mother cursed while you were in the pram
there is no task that will not lead to stress

summer

this is the moment when we cross the line
and find that kingdoms have grown up in sleep
republics risen and that words once cheap
have now become the means to unconfine
all of the golden values we assign
those who would enter where the water's deep
and then return to where we have to keep
not only spirit but the sacred wine
another planet wanders into view
where we might set the scene for a fresh tale
or else explain just how we got this scar
but not a story comes here that is new
no matter if blown in by some sweet gale
or bearing light of a high-risen star